I've seen The Nimbus grow, on the horizon Eyes of the wicked above The heathens are deprived of the knowledge Disciples are the only ones to know
The seeds of disaster fall from the skies above The storm, they seek their master The hand can hold the blade, the dying fall Those who pray voive a futile call
The horse of war is saddled, death is riding Rabid dogs are chasing there in tow And covering the earth, this world of dying A lake of ink to swallow every soul
Sacrament of the sickTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
